Bedtime Stories (a.k.a Camus' Insomnia)
by Samittchi
Summary: Camus can't get to sleep.. so he asks for a bedtime story from Miklotov! Too bad it wasn't the story he expected.. ^_^


Author's note: This is the first time I've uploaded anything here, so if anything comes out funky looking, just blame me! ^_-; Anywho, this is a short story featuring everyone's favorite Matilda Knights. Camus can't sleep, and decides he wants a bedtime story.. enjoy!   
  
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Fractured Fairy Tales - Matilda Knight Style  
  
Miklotov was reclining on his bed in his room, reading a book. Propped up nicely with many a pillow, legs stretched out before him on the navy comforter.. it had been quite some time since he'd had some time just to enjoy himself and relax for once. Things seemed to be relatively quiet around here, and he wasn't one to complain. A brief smile sketched over his features as sapphire gaze shifted sidelong, to the window and the darkening night. A good nights sleep sounded like a wonderful idea.   
  
He could hear the shuffling of feet down the hallway of the knight's barracks. He heard conversations grow louder and then quell into the distance as people passed by his room, keeping to their own business. One pinky finger had slipped beneath the current page he was reading, and was about to flip it to the next when a thump-thump of steps seemed to be coming awfully close to his room...   
  
Gaze lifted in time to see Camus trundle into the room hurriedly, looking a bit disgruntled. His hair and clothing were a rumpled mess; it looked like a small group of raucous children had ambushed him on the way over. The book shut silently, that pinky finger staying between the pages as a sort of bookmark, and one ebon brow arched gently as his friend stood before his bed, hands on hips, looking at his wits end.   
  
"I want to take a nap."   
  
That was all Camus said, and at that moment he seemed to notice that he looked like a wreck, and hands busied themselves with the smoothing out of his clothes and hair. Miklotov didn't seem to follow, and a puzzled expression crossed the blue knight's features.   
  
"So.. then why don't you?" "Because I can't sleep."   
  
Miklotov wondered why one would want to take a nap if he wasn't tired. Had he ever wanted to take a nap, right out of nowhere? Brows knitted as he thought to himself, and vaguely recollected something about Camus telling him of an early morning training session. In the wee, wee hours of the morning.. ah yes. And he wanted to sleep so he could be well-rested and not fall asleep in mid lesson. That would be embarassing. Miklotov nodded once, slow and solemn, as he understood his friend's plight. However, his plans for sleep were slim to none. What could he do? Knock him over the head with a heavy book? Too dangerous. Give him a boring lecture? Then he himself might fall asleep..   
  
"Tell me a bedtime story!" The words nearly took Miklotov by surprise as a wide grin stretched itself across Camus' face. His eyes were glimmering as he moved to the side of the bed, promptly flopping himself on the comforter aside Miklotov, who made a small grunt of dissatisfaction at being jolted around.   
  
"You're serious? I'm no good at stories and those sorts of things." So much for a relaxing night of reading. He set his book aside, placing the marker in its proper place first. Leaning back against the pillows, hands folded placidly to rest atop his own stomach, and Miklotov let out a long sigh. He wasn't exactly the most creative of the bunch.   
  
"Oh, come on! Ple~ease? It'll be fun.. I promise not to make fun of you!" That smile wasn't planning on leaving Camus' face anytime soon, and he rolled over to rest his head on Miklotov's shoulder, earning another muffled grunt from the blue knight. Miklotov closed his eyes, and let out a long sigh as his chin declined a bit in thought.   
  
"All right, all right. If it will shut you up." Camus nodded once and proceeded to make a 'zipping' motion across his own lips, with thumb and forefinger. A few more moments of silence hung between them before Miklotov began to speak.   
  
"Okay. This is a story about a little redheaded boy who liked to cause trouble. He liked to break things in the house and torment his family whenever he could, and his mother often threatened to spank him soundly with a wooden spoon if he did not calm himself."   
  
"Hey, wait a minute..."   
  
"You said you weren't going to speak." A single finger placed across Camus' lips, and the black haired man continued. "As I was saying, this little boy was quite raucous and loud. Everyone in the neighborhood always knew when he was coming their way, because he would scream and hoot like a banshee, and they would lock their doors tight in hopes that this red haired boy would not bother them. For you see, they were all dreadfully afraid of being talked to death, or hollered at until their ears bled."   
  
"......"   
  
"One day this little redheaded boy went for a noisy tromp through the woods. He tromped through a stream and got all wet and muddy, and was absolutely dirty. On his way home he stumbled upon someone he'd never seen before, a little black haired boy. Now this boy was quite refined and mannerly - he sat on a bench by himself, hands neatly folded. Yes, he was quite a stunning child if I do say so myself."   
  
"Hey, Mik.."   
  
"The noisy redheaded boy ceased his singing and stinking and whatever else he was doing at the time to stop and look at this masterful little black haired boy. Yes, he was truly the paradigm of children everywhere! The redhead immediately decided that he would befriend this new boy. Luckily, this black haired boy had immense amounts of patience." Miklotov put a little extra emphasis on this last word, and Camus snickered softly. "He taught the redheaded boy not to be so loud," Miklotov continued. "He taught him how to eat with utensils and not with his hands like some sort of barbarian, and how to open doors for people, and not to kick people when they are rude to you. And the little redheaded boy went back to his family with all these new manners, and his mother nearly fainted because he was such a polite little boy! It was like nothing she'd ever seen before!"   
  
Camus tried his best to hold in his laughter, but it came out in a choked snort instead. Miklotov waved a hand to hush him - he wasn't done yet.   
  
"The woman went out in search of this little black haired boy, and she gave him money and nice clothing and a good pat upon the head. She gave him everything she could for turning her son into such a darling, but there was one thing the boy wanted which she hadn't given. Yes, it was a decision that would surely haunt him later, but the dark haired boy wanted his newfound friend to travel with him. Well, it was quite a decision, and the mother figured that one less child in the house would be easier on their finances, so she handed over the red headed boy."   
  
"?? How cruel!!"   
  
"Hush you. Anyways, the two traveled off, and apparently the lessons on manners wore off, and the redhead returned to his normal annoying self. And the poor black haired lad was stuck with him grating on his nerves for the rest of his life. The end." Miklotov finished primly, fingers steepled together and resting on his chest as he cast sidelong glance to Camus. Silence raigned for a few more moments.   
  
"... You're right. You are horrible at telling stories." Camus sat up, a little frown on his face, as he shoved Miklotov gently with one elbow. "I know what you're getting at here! This is one of those stories with a moral, isn't it?" He flopped back down on the bed, arms crossed, his back to Miklotov.   
  
"Oh, come on." Sapphires rolled gently in skepticism as Mik tipped his head back a bit, gaze roaming the ceiling. "You said you wanted a story. What more did you expect from me?" He paused a moment, before going off with some more rambling. "You know I'm not very creative. I can't help but be blunt and to the point. I like to read more than I like to wri--.. Camus?" A curious expression as Miklotov peered over to his friend. He sat up, cautiously leaning forward..   
  
Asleep. Camus was asleep, right there.   
  
Miklotov opened his mouth, thought better of it, and quickly snapped it shut once more. He was asleep, let him be. He needed his rest anyways. But on his bed? Nevertheless, a contented little smile made it's way upon his face as he picked up his own book once more, and began to read. 


End file.
